


Scratching the Record

by euphorbic



Series: Angel of Cities [13]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Gratuitous Imagery, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Pseudoscience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3439607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphorbic/pseuds/euphorbic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik seems to be looping and skipping.</p><p>Takes place the evening of the same day as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/747382">Have You Any Wool?</a><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratching the Record

**Author's Note:**

> I intend to keep updating this; I put it off and then I forgot about it for a long time. I edited this a little bit, but it's largely unchanged from the original on tumblr.
> 
> [If you want to read the series in chronological order, go to the [series notes.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/36800)]

Hours later, it’s raining and Charles is sitting in the open living space with a fresh mug of chamomile. He has some bossa nova-inspired lounge music playing softly in the background as he pours over new information from the lab. He’s particularly interested in the new specimens that have sprouted recently but also morose that he won’t get to see them before they die off. At least something else will grow in their place.  
  
A tendril of his attention remains curled around Erik as Charles works, thus he is alerted when Erik begins to rouse from rest once more. Since Erik has already woken several times only to collapse back onto the bed after sitting up, Charles continues to move through the research, making notations as he goes. He monitors closely, just in case Erik makes it further than before.  
  
This time Erik doesn’t fall back against the bed. He stirs, sparks of confusion trailing his awareness before he opens his eyes on the dark room. Erik isn’t truly thinking yet, at least not in a conventional manner. He’s sensing, feeling, experiencing, gathering information that has yet to make any sense to him. He feels heavy and solid, pulled down by a force he doesn’t comprehend; he’s not even sure how he can force himself to move. And it is dark. So very dark.  
  
Charles takes one hand from the insulated mug and closes the laptop. Calm steps below and mug trailing a banner of steam above, he moves quietly into the bedroom where Erik is sitting, confused. Charles notes with dismay that a few of the cuts in Erik’s face and on his body are still present, though they seem half-healed.  
  
Erik senses Charles by the gears and fittings of his antique wristwatch, the frames and screws of the reading glasses perched on his nose, the zip and button of his trousers, the one gold filling in the back of his mouth, and, finally, the trace metals moving through his bloodstream. Charles feels it, can’t help but smile at it, when Erik recognizes him and the sparks of confusion burst into supernova-like formations of color and light. Whole constellations of understanding form, spiraling out as he rediscovers his connection to one Charles Francis Xavier.  
  
“It’s dark because your eyes are closed,” Charles says and chuckles lightly. “Open them for me?”  
  
Erik does and sucks in a slow deep breath. Charles pulls back psychically, lets Erik take in his surroundings with confusion-laced senses. To make up for the psychic distance, he draws closer physically and sits down on the closest edge of the bed. Charles offers the mug of tea to Erik. “Take a drink?”  
  
Charles thinks he could recite a Byronian sonnet in the time it takes Erik to respond. For several moments he sits and stares between Charles’ eyes and the mug. When he finally moves it’s with an exaggerated slowness that isn’t within his character at all. Finally, his long-fingered hands close about the mug and Charles lets go. Erik’s hands sink to his lap with their burden.  
  
“Careful, it’s hot.”  
  
Spurred by Erik’s strange behavior, Charles squints, overlaying his physical sight with the strange spiritual sight he gained with the Bond. The beetles that have been pinching Erik’s flesh together with their mandibles are gone and the wounds, though not completely healed, are staying closed without help. Of the Swarm there is no immediate sign.  
  
_Are you well, Erik?_  Charles asks, eyes relaxing from the squint.  
  
Erik blinks first and then nods. “Did you enjoy your work today?”  
  
“I didn’t go, which is a shame; the grove is producing some particularly interesting specimens of late.” Charles places his hand on Erik’s knee. “I stayed home all day while you recovered.”  
  
“Understood.” Erik holds the mug back out to Charles. “Thank you, it was good.”  
  
“Was it?” Charles chuckles and leaves the tea in Erik’s hands. “You didn’t drink any of it.”  
  
Erik snorts in subdued disbelief. “I drank all of it.”  
  
Charles regrets not taking the mug back the moment Erik tips it upside down to prove his point.  
  
Confusion returns and irritation makes an appearance as the tea drops down, splashes along the sheets covering Erik’s thighs, and soaks in quickly. And though he hisses at the sudden pain, Erik carefully sets the empty mug aside rather than extract himself from the steaming sheets.  
  
Charles is the one that acts: he lunges forward, grabs the edge of the sheets and pulls back, his fingers dragging across the mattress’ fitted sheet so that he gathers all the bedding from Erik in one efficient motion. Concerned less with the bedding than Erik, Charles shoves the lot onto the floor and climbs onto the bed to inspect his damp thighs. Charles also spares a glance for Erik’s penis and wonders again why a Power would lack a protective foreskin. Thankfully, only his thighs are red.  
  
“Does anything hurt?”  
  
Erik nods. “A lot of things hurt.”  
  
“I mean burns. Are you burnt?” The tea was very hot. Though Charles’ tolerance for heated drinks is higher than most, it was still too much even for him. He grimaces and tries asking in a different way. “Did the tea burn you anywhere?”  
  
“It stings a little, but it’s fading.” Erik leans back on long arms, the pose makes his shoulders jut forward on either side of his chest. It’s one of the most human poses he’s seen Erik make. “I was sure I drank it. I need to attune with Bashan; I need Equilibrium.”  
  
“Attuning with Bashan last night wasn’t enough, was it?” Charles reaches out to carefully touch a half-healed cut across Erik’s cheekbone that resumes over the upper ridge of the ocular ridge, “After the altercation in Alexandria last night and then the helicopter this morning. You still have healing to do. You didn’t say much last night, but I was hoping you had news of Emma.”  
  
Even as Charles admires the cool shadows cupped in the hollow of Erik’s cheeks, he is aware of slow confusion bursting within his Power. He widens his focus to see the echo of the emotion proclaimed in the furrow of Erik’s brow. “The helicopter I remember, but not a fight at Alexandria. I can send a message to ——— about Emma Frost, but I’m sure he would keep her safe, even at the risk of his body. And that body is something he values highly.”  
  
At first Charles can only stare at Erik in quiet shock. He wonders how Erik could possibly forget the trouble at Alexandria when he wears many of its injuries?  
  
His mouth opens once, then shuts again. He considers reading Erik’s mind, but while reading Erik’s surface thoughts can sometimes be challenging, delving deeper would be too alien an encounter to endure for long. The only time he’s gone deep into Erik is when the imprint had occurred and, though he doesn’t regret the imprint, he doesn’t want a repeat of the psychic trauma that followed.  
  
Instead, Charles reviews his own memories of Erik’s predawn homecoming. The Alexandrian’s imagery had been all over Erik and Erik’s body had streamed and flickered in and out of sight like a hologram. His body and his spirit had been utterly ravaged. It wasn’t something Erik would forget. Misplace, perhaps, but not forget.  
  
“You really don’t remember going to Alexandria last night?” Charles asks.  
  
“No.” Erik responds, his brow now communicating annoyance as much as confusion. “Tell me what happened right before and right after. Maybe I can find it.”  
  
“We attuned,” Charles says. “I gave you a very thorough tutorial on fellatio. Do you remember that?”  
  
Erik’s gaze grows distant. “I think so. Yes, I remember, but it isn’t clear. What happened after?”  
  
Charles isn’t sure if should be offended or crestfallen that Erik can’t remember the extended foreplay he had subjected Erik to before getting himself fucked right off the mattress. Of course, he can give Erik the memory from his point of view.  
  
“I fell off the bed, you followed and resumed the action, and then we slept.” Charles sighs. He thinks he had some unusual dreams too, but can’t recall exactly. Something about a desert of broken glass? “You woke soon after, though, and left in a hurry. You came home very early in the morning with the Alexandrian’s imagery tied up in yours. It took you an hour to attune with Bashan for an hour and then I put you to bed. A few hours later the helicopter incident occurred.”  
  
Still frowning, Erik lurches forward off his arms and looks down his body. His eyes flick from wound to wound then across the short distance to Charles. “I think the Alexandrian is entropic; Alexandria prevails upon all her brothers and sisters for help. I can hear her.”  
  
“You can hear Alexandria?” Charles exhales in soft surprise. “This morning, you said the Alexandrian was entropic. What does that mean for Alexandria?”  
  
Erik shrugs fluidly. It’s yet another gesture he has taken from Charles’ physical vocabulary and mastered. “Alexandria depends on the Alexandrian; she’ll have trouble with any processes that require his touch. Either he must attune and gain Equilibrium with her or he’ll remain entropic and be forced to dissipate. I suspect he’ll attune soon; there’s no reason why he wouldn’t. He has Emma Frost, he has his body, he has Alexandria, and he has the Library.”  
  
While Charles has always found the Alexandrian singularly arrogant, Charles can’t help the concern that grows within his gut. “Erik, there were explosions in the Linguistics section of the Library.” Charles says. “What if Emma was killed? What do you think the Alexandrian would do?”  
  
At this Erik pauses. Charles feels a conflict within him, one born of his growing dual nature. His eyes drop from Charles’ face and back down to the tight skin pulling at the scabbing across his ribs. Gingerly, he touches the scab then traces the edges of the dried blood.  
  
“There are few possibilities. Either he would become entropic and imprint with someone else or he would not become entropic and still imprint with another. Neither possibility should interfere with attuning.”  
  
And because Charles senses the source of Erik’s discomfort, he asks the question he knows Erik is pondering. “Would it be the same for you if I were to die?”  
  
Erik looks back up and one hand follows his gaze, reaches across and traces Charles’ jawline. The other hand stays, tracing the scab’s outer edge over and over. “You will die, Charles. You will dissipate one day. When Bashan no longer needs me, I will dissipate, too.”  
  
_But how long will Bashan need you?_  The question is far too precious and immediate for his lungs and mouth to form. Tears do not come, but Charles feels the slight itch of tears waiting in the wings. He reaches up and covers the hand on his cheek and presses it against his skin.  
  
Erik smiles with an expression Charles knows to be rueful, but doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to; the smile alone reminds Charles of his mistake. Asking Erik questions about time always leads to utter confusion.  _Can you ask her?_  
  
Rising up on his knees, Erik moves his hand from Charles’ cheek to just under his chin. Charles releases the too-warm appendage lingeringly as Erik rears up over him. He allows Erik to press their foreheads together. At his chest, he can still feel Erik’s hand moving over the scab.  
  
“I’ll ask, but I don’t if I’ll understand her answer or even if she will give me one. Still, I will ask.”  
  
Breathing out over a bare smile, Charles sends Erik a feeling of understanding and thanks. Verbally, he says, “Is there any particular reason you’re still touching the wound on your side?”  
  
“I’m not,” Erik replies. Except, of course, he is.


End file.
